


Shadows

by TheLynx



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Disabled Character, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Psychosis, Tourette's Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 14:06:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3491144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLynx/pseuds/TheLynx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lavellan has his own private demons to deal with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> Rated M for sexual content, but there’s not much of it. No spoilers.

Mahanon was at a bit of a loss.

He and Dorian had been intimate for a while now. A few weeks, at least—hard to keep track when you’re always busy and almost always traveling. What felt like a day or two could be an entire month, and what felt like weeks could be just an hour. Time never made sense to the elf, something which frustrated him to no end. (It was, in fact, one of the main reasons he kept a very updated journal, so that he would not forget too easily all the time that had passed, no matter how hard his mind tried to work against him.)

It seemed like a fitting time to invite Dorian to his bed. Not sexually, as they had been doing, but actually _sleeping_ together. A new, different level of intimacy that Mahanon craved and wanted to share with his lover, somewhat akin to the long nights they would spend poring over magic tomes or discussing their cultures in the weak light of a candle. They had not had many of those nights, all things considered, but he cherished the few they had had. Those pleasant evenings always ended with one or the other returning to his respective room, sharing a kiss before he walked off and hid a yawn from the other.

Dorian still wasn’t familiar with this whole “romance” thing, though he certainly enjoyed it despite his nervousness. It wasn’t new territory for the Inquisitor, but he made sure not to push Dorian for any closeness he may not want.

Hopefully, inviting Dorian to stay the night with him wouldn’t be asking for too much, but that was not the elf’s most pressing worry. He was likely just waiting to be asked, possibly not certain how one should time such requests and therefore leaving it to the other.

Maybe Mahanon should put it off some more. It’s not like it’s something they needed, no matter how much he wanted it, to wake up to the morning sunlight nestled in his lover’s arms, to see his gentle smile as soon as he opened his eyes…

“Inquisitor?”

Mahanon gave a start as he was brought back to his surroundings. He had been pacing on the battlements outside of Cullen’s office, lost in thought as he looked out from Skyhold, and now that man himself was looking at him with concern, brows furrowed. “I heard you chirping and coughing from inside. Are you alright?” he asked in a low voice. They were alone where they were, but anyone passing by beneath them might be able to hear their words, and it wouldn’t do to have anyone talking about the Inquisitor’s potentially poor health.

“Yes, I’m fine,” he said, mouth twitching at the end of the statement as if to deny the words he’d just said. “Just… thinking.”

Cullen frowned, but nodded at him respectfully regardless, trusting that Lavellan wasn’t doing too badly. “War room this evening, then? Leliana received a few letters this morning, so I expect we’ll need to send some people to southern Ferelden for a few things, rifts among them.”

“Of course, I’ll be there.” Rifts, always more rifts, always more work to be done. He gave a small smile. “Commander, really, don’t worry about me. There’s nothing serious going on. I was only thinking about everything that’s been happening, you know. Rebuilding Skyhold and whatnot.” It wasn’t a complete lie, since repairs were still being made and everyone had more than their fair share of work, but he wasn’t about to say that he’d been thinking about Dorian for however long he’d been pacing.

“Just watch your ankle, all right? Stressing yourself like this won’t help.” Ah, yes, that. The ankle that hadn’t stopped aching since he had fractured it in the destruction at Haven. Sometimes he didn’t even notice it anymore, familiar as the pain was, until he ended up tripping on it (and completely ruining the rest of his day).

Mahanon walked down the stairs from the battlements, forgetting to answer Cullen’s question, but the templar was used to the Inquisitor’s absent-mindedness. They would see each other later, anyway.

* * *

 

They would be leaving the day after next to deal with exactly what Cullen had mentioned earlier: More rifts, plus some red templars, in southeastern Ferelden. Not the most pleasant way to spend time, but Mahanon had resigned himself to this sort of thing by now.

Chewing his lip as he was lost in thought again—this time regarding his work—he did not expect to run into Dorian in his quarters, finding the man lounging on a seat with a heavy book on his lap. Mahanon smiled while a copious amount of blinks, twitches, and chirps escaped him, and Dorian grinned, satisfied that he had finally been able to surprise the elf. “It’s about time you came back from that dull meeting,” he said, closing the book and placing it on the nearby stand. “I was rather afraid you’d spend all night in there. What _do_ you do, anyway? Argue with your advisors? Sit by and watch the rest of them bicker? Or is it just as boring as I might expect, all four of you having productive discussions and actually getting work done?”

Mahanon chuckled, sitting down next to Dorian and leaning on his shoulder, making sure to position his ankle so it was in the least painful position he could achieve. “Shall I tell you and spoil the mystery, or shall I let you continue to wonder? For all you know, we could be spending the hours gossiping about the rest of the Inquisition.”

The human raise an eyebrow at that. “Oh? Do tell me what scandalous rumors have been spread about me. Assuming, of course, that you spread at least a few of them.”

“You will have to wait until you hear them whispered by mouths other than mine, ma vhenan.”

“’Ma vhenan.’ And what, exactly, does that mean?”

Mahanon smiled and gave him a kiss, declining to answer the questions. He didn’t ask why Dorian was here, as he assumed the man simply wanted to spend some time with him, per their usual. Considering the absence of books—one book meant light reading, five or more meant they would actually have in-depth conversations about the content—he assumed Dorian was here less to talk and more to have sex. He was right, of course.

Afterwards, they would typically cuddle in bed for a while before Dorian left, but Mahanon was a bit more anxious than usual, walking around the room and checking behind corners and furniture for… something.

“Did you lose something?”

“No, no, I haven’t lost anything, I’m just looking.” His voice shook, and he removed the bathrobe he had put on when he got out of bed, shaking out the pockets and checking all of its folds.

“Well, you certainly _look_ like you’ve lost something. I don’t think I’ve seen you this energetic in a while; did I not perform well enough this time? I can try harder if you’d like.” Dorian tilted his head and grinned as he watched the re-clothed man quickly look through the drawers in his work desk.

Mahanon huffed frustratedly and shifted his weight, wincing at the sudden sharp pain in his ankle, and the other man’s grin left his face. “Mahanon, what’s going on? Did I hurt you?” he asked, suddenly afraid that he had done something to push the elf away from him.

“What?” He looked down at his ankle and shrugged. “No, that was from Haven.” The topic hadn’t come up previously, not being relevant.

Nor had a lot of other topics, he realized.

“Dorian, I…” No, this wasn’t a good time to talk about this. Dorian would leave, as he always did, and Mahanon would panic on his own. That was familiar; that was safe. He resumed checking the bookshelves behind the desk, checking the spaces between books and between shelves, even though it should be obvious that there was nothing there. Every now and then he glanced behind him towards some other corner of the room, as if something would jump out and get him.

Except this time, Dorian didn’t leave. “Mahanon,” he said, his voice low and tender. The elf’s pale green eyes jumped towards his face, and his whole body tensed. “Please, come here.”

He hesitated for a moment. Half of his instincts told him to keep checking the room, to keep ensuring that it was safe, but the other half of him said that he should go to Dorian, let himself be comforted and held.

The more reasonable side of him won out, and he hesitantly disrobed and crawled back into bed with the man, leaning back on a couple of pillows stacked against the headboard so he was sitting comfortably next to Dorian. The other mage gently reached out to hold his hand, and they sat there for a few minutes, waiting for the elf to calm down again.

“What are you afraid of?” Dorian asked, and Mahanon tensed up again. He did not want to have this conversation. This was not something he was prepared for, and he didn’t want to share these secrets with anyone. Even among the Dalish, the things he experienced were strange and tended to leave such people as outcasts.

But this was Dorian. The man he loved. He needed to have this conversation, as much as he wanted to avoid it. Dorian had trusted him with so much, shouldn’t he show the same trust?

He was tired enough that his tics were calm, not giving away the full extent of his discomfort, thankfully. He wasn’t sure he could deal with that right now.

“Dorian, I… I see things,” he forced out, looking away from the Tevinter and gripping his hand tightly. Creators, this was going to be difficult. “I had to make sure there weren’t any demons or shadows hiding anywhere. I was looking for them, making sure they left, making sure they didn’t appear. Not real demons, fake demons, imagined demons, sneaking from the shadows with their glowing eyes…”

He was shaking now, too afraid to look at his lover, too afraid to speak any more since he’d stopped making sense. _I shouldn’t have said anything, I really shouldn’t have,_ he thought. Rejection was not something he could handle at the moment. _I can’t ruin this, I shouldn’t have said anything, I…_

“Shh,” Dorian said, stroking his arm with his other hand. “It’s alright.” The mage’s usual wit was gone now, given up in favor of making sure the elf stayed calm and comfortable. “I don’t understand it, but I don’t think any less of you for this. I would do whatever I could if it would take this fear away from you, amatus.”

Mahanon turned, glancing at Dorian’s face before burying his face in his chest. Dorian seemed sincere, gentle, caring—not the disgusted dismissal he had expected—and his expression reflected that. He couldn’t bear to look for more than a second though, still feeling too ashamed to be this open about himself. The human stroked his fingers through his hair, whispering quietly until he was no longer on the brink of crying.

“They come out at night,” he whispered shakingly, “haunting me while I try to sleep.”

Dorian kept holding him, slowly guiding his movements until the two of them were lying down in bed instead of sitting. He lay one arm over the elf and held him close, kissing the top of his head. They didn’t need to say anything more.

He stayed the night without having to be asked, and his presence then was all that Mahanon could have wanted.


End file.
